


The Thing About Martin and Amanda

by Kahvi



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Amanda asks Martin what he wants for his birthday, the answer is both simple and complicated. Like most things when it comes to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing About Martin and Amanda

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a story about the real Benedict Cumberbatch, Amanda Abbington or Martin Freeman; it is simply taking their public personas for a fictionalized, no-harm-intended spin. It makes no assumptions about their personal lives, about which this author knows nothing and does not wish to speculate.

"What do you want for your birthday, you old fart?"

The thing about him and Amanda is, they joke about everything. That's it, really; that's how they've survived. It's how they communicate; how they love, when you get right down to it. Martin loves her so much his chest aches, and he loves Ben too, and so... somehow...

OK, the _how_ isn't all that important; it's happened. That's what's important. They've made it work, and the way it works is like this: It's him and Amanda, or him and Ben. For... sex, and that. They're all friends, obviously; he couldn't imagine them ever not being! But he and Ben don't kiss when the kids are around (they'll tell them when they're older; when they understand enough not to talk to everyone about what dad and uncle Ben get up to), and when Ben stays over, it's in the guest room, Martin stopping by for a lazy kiss goodnight before slumping back in bed with Amanda (shagging her silly, more often than not). She likes that; she likes all of it, actually; it's Ben who's funny about 'intruding' and 'coming between them' which Martin doesn't even take the opportunity to joke about, and that's telling, isn't it? But even Martin likes it like this, really; separate. It makes a certain sort of sense, and it is familar and cozy, by now; both values in which Martin sets high stakes: Martin and Amanda at home, Ben and Martin when they're filming, or if - rarely - he visits Ben. 

This is how they are. How it is. And it is Martin's birthday, and Amanda is curled up against him on one side of the settee, Ben on the other, and Martin can feel his breath on _that_ spot on his neck, so fucking obviously intentional if it had been any other person in the world, but it isn't. It's Ben. Sweet, impossibly forthright Ben, who kisses him lightly, full on the lips, because the kids are at their nan and gramp's. And Amanda is still waiting for an answer. "This. This is perfect," he says, and means it. 

"Mm." Ben pulls back even as Martin tries to curl up against him. "I hate to be a bore, but I've got a 6 AM call tomorrow." He yawns, and Martin kisses him deeper, greedily, knowing that's all he's going to get tonight. 

"Fucking tease." Ben looks unhappy, and Martin instantly regrets it. 

"Come say good night?"

"'Course I will."

* * *

Very few things can distract him from Amanda's naked body, but it, like her, is asleep already, leaving Martin is hard and frustrated. And he _did_ promise. And he won't do anything against the rules; he can be good. Jesus. He drops out of bed in his now ill-fitting boxers, and slips through Ben's bedroom door. 

Oh, Christ All Mighty. It's not warm out, or in the house, but Ben is a furnace in human form, Martin does know that. Still. _Still_. Would it fucking do him harm to cover up a little? Ben is naked, and half hard (and half asleep), clutching at the covers and smiling crookedly. "Go on, then" he says, and Martin falters. He can't. He _can't_. 

"I... can't." 

"I know. Just a kiss."

There is no such thing, not now, and Ben knows that, the bastard. Martin tries. He presses chaste lips to lips, but Ben opens up, back arching, and he is _gone_. Martin leans into it, licking the back of Ben's throat, knees hurting where they're pushing against the sharp bed frame, but he can't lean closer, or this will end badly. They kiss at an awkward angle, Ben's hand opening and closing, twitching, trying to reach his own cock. It's heartbreaking, so Martin summons all his reserves and pushes away. 

"Wh... what?"

"I have to go, love. You know that."

"Yuh. Yeah."

"So you can take care of yourself."

Ben swallows, visibly, and Martin has never felt more proud and simultaniously ashamed of himself. Part of him sneers at the idiocy of all this; at the arbitrary rules that would be so easy to break, but _Ben_ is the one who asked for them, so he doesn't. "All right. Sleep... uh..."

"Oh, I won't be sleeping for a while."

Ben grins, and the sun might as well have risen again. "G'night. Love you."

"Love you, arsehole."

"I love your arsehole too."

"Shut up. I'm going!" He does. He has to. _Dammit_.

* * *

Amanda is waiting for him, wide awake and sitting upright. She's beautiful. He loves her hair like this, so soft, and long enough to curl just a little. "Sorry to wake you." He's a lying bastard; his whole body, one part in particular, is shaking with relief. He's too worked up to sleep; very nearly too worked up to think.

She grins, and it's like Ben all over again. Sunshine, warming his face. "I wasn't really sleeping, anway."

"Oh yeah?" Martin crawls into bed, already mentally checking where the lube might be. Probably in Ben's room, with his luck. Maybe she'll do that thing for him, tonight. It's his birthday, after all. Honestly though, he's not picky; he _needs_ to get off. Soon-ish. 

Amanda kisses him sweetly, laughing when he surges forward like a dog in heat. Do male dogs go into heat? Fuck it; who cares! "Woah, there! I want to give you your present."

"Present?" He perks up. Literally, which he frankly did not think was possible. The _thing_? Will she do the thing for him? Oh, please, let her have thought to bring the lube! 

"It's your birthday, after all." She pushes the duvet down, breasts pert and bouncing. Martin moves towards them, mouth eager and open, meeting air. She swats at him, having spun to the side like the sly fox she is, and he whines, morosely. 

"Come _on_. I'm in actual pain, here. Give an old man a break."

"Keep your pants on."

"Too late."

"Sush! Let me finish. Remember what we talked about at Christmas?"

Months ago! How is his brain expected to remember that far back? "Maybe..."

"When we were fooling around." 

_Oh_. "When you did the thing." He always remembers the thing. He _likes_ the thing.

"And you said it was better when Ben... you know..."

"Yeah, and I said I was sorry; it's not better, it's just different, that's all..." She's grinning. Her whole _face_ is grinning. Grinning, and looking to the side. Martin turns to see where she's looking.

His jaw drops. Ben. Ben, naked, hard, shyly smiling. 

Martin reaches for Amanda's hand, eyes not moving. "Babe," he asks her, voice still and small. 

"Hullo," Ben says, screaming insecurity from every pore. 

"No." The word is hard to get out through smiling lips. "No fucking way." He looks between them, addressing either one. "You're joking!" 

"It's your birthday," Amanda reminds him, gently. He grabs her, kisses her until he can't breathe. He can hear Ben giggle nervously; he can hear his own blood rushing.

"You don't want this," he asks her. Is it a question? He's overcome with love and lust and joy and wonder. 

"It's your birthday," she says again. "And I don't mind, really. Bloody hell, that look on your face alone is worth it." She looks up, smiling over his shoulder, "and Ben is a sweetheart. How the hell could I throw him out of bed?" 

Martin kisses her, again and again, until she starts laughing and pushes him back. 

"Come on," she tells Ben, who is still hovering, erection drooping sadly (Martin wants to comfort it; the thought makes him want to giggle, but he can't; he's too euphoric). "It's all right, I'll keep to this side."

That earns her a laugh, and soon after, it earns Martin a tall, lanky, posh bastard splayed out next to him. "Hi," Ben says, and Martin kisses him too, a little more calmly. This can't be real, and if he's not careful, it might break. "I brought this," he adds, eventually, and Martin does laugh, because there's the bottle of lube in Ben's hand. 

"Condoms?"

"He's not seeing anyone right now," Amanda adds, helpfully. Martin grabs the bottle, opening it almost angrily and squeezing out a good dollop. 

"Then what the hell are you waiting for," he yells, so Ben stops waiting. And through some arcane magic, it takes just seconds before Ben's fingers are inside him, and Amanda's tongue is in his mouth, and his chest is aching with it all. He can't take it in (well yeah, he can, he's done it before, but he's not being literal); there's too much love. Too many hands on him, on his chest, lips on his neck - _that_ spot, oh god oh god oh god _yes_ \- he'll burst. Far too quickly. 

Ben doesn't say anything, and that's new. He'll usually natter on and on until Martin shuts him up in the most inventive way he can think of, and that's always fun. But he's quiet now, like he's trying to impress. "Are you _acting_ ," Martin tells him, and that gets a little laugh, then a kiss, then one from Amanda. Jesus. How often is it his birthday? Could he manage to age faster, somehow? Why would he want that? Fuck, it'd be worth it though; it just might be worth it! 

Amanda's lips disappear, and Martin is confused until he feels a familar wet embrace around his cock, and now he really, really can't think. He makes the mistake of looking down, and very nearly comes. "God," he whimpers. "Ben. Now. Please. Right now." They should wait, make it last, but there's no chance of that now. Martin can feel it. He's too old to drag things out at this point.

"Yeah," comes the breathy answer at his back. "Anything. Anything you want." He knows; Martin can feel it. They know one another's bodies and voices; Ben can tell. He doesn't linger, he pushes in, and Martin is _filled_ , and _sucked_ , and seeing stars. 

"Love you," he wheezes. "Love you both." His hand is in Amanda's hair. His hips jut, helplessly. Ben's hands are on his waist, a gentle counterpoint; his lips are at Martin's neck. Ben isn't holding back - he's _pounding_ , driving hard and fast, and making all those deep, dark noises he knows Martin loves. Loves. Oh. Wait a minute. He reaches down, pokes Amanda's shoulder 'til she looks up and away, with an audible 'smack'. 

"What," she says, lips red and ready. 

"Up... up here."

Ben is oblivious. He's close, and so is Martin, but there's something just as important. Martin pulls Amanda up, up; reaching for his mouth with hers and tastes salt and sweat and joy. He reaches between her legs and she groans. He presses harder; further - he knows her body like his own. Like Ben knows his. He makes her squirm and wriggle, burying his fingers in her warm wetness until she cries out, and Ben cries out, and something inside him bursts- and....

 

"Oi!"

Amanda sits next to him on the settee. It's his birthday, and she just asked him a question. Martin blinks.

"You've been staring into space for a good long minute. Are you thinking about food again, greedy-guts?"

"Hm? Oh. No."

"I asked you what you wanted for your birthday." She grins. "So? What?"

"I want you and Ben to fuck me at the same time."

Her nose scrunches adorably. "What - my cousin Ben?"

" _Benedict_ ," Martin enunciates. "The Cumberlord."

She nods, sagely. "Aaaah. Right. I don't have his number, I'm afraid. And he's not on twitter."

"That's a shame."

"Dinner and a movie then, like usual."

"Only if it's a film I'm in," he tells her, and she swats his arse, heading to the kitchen. That's the thing about him and Amanda; they joke about everything.


End file.
